Hogwarts and the Mists of Abaddon
by BlackSheep42
Summary: A sudden and mysterious attack during a school Quidditch match... The new kid at school with a sordid family secret... and a trip into the history of Hogwarts which unearths shocking truths. Will the students of Hogwarts get to the bottom of it all?


**Chapter 1 – The Match That Never Was**

The boy lay on the floor, motionless. All around him, the World was going crazy. Slowly, he began to stir, and moved his head sideways. He winced with pain as something twinged painfully in the side of his neck. His eyebrows involuntarily crumpled together, and he felt the constriction of his glasses around the top of his nose. So, he was still wearing his glasses. That in itself was a miracle! That he was even conscious – even alive – was another. He took a deep breath of air and swallowed, immediately gagging as he tasted his own blood.

Slowly, he lifted himself up on one arm, tenderly checking his battered body for signs of damage. He was astonished to find that his lanky, gangly physique was almost unscathed. But how was that possible? He had fallen so far! Groggily, he levered himself up further into a sitting position, and rubbed his sore head. The memory of the incident was hazy in his mind… but just as he was trying to piece things together, a loud shout somewhere off to his right brought him sharply back to the present, and in an alarming moment of recognition he realised that the chaos was still in full flow, and that he was caught right in the middle of it.

He cast his eyes around frantically for his broomstick, but could not see it anywhere. He was sure that he had still been clinging to it as he had tumbled from the sky; certain it had not slipped from his fingers as he had made brutal contact with the floor of the Quidditch pitch and blacked out. But its discovery would have to wait; right now, the boy's main priority was to get to safety. He shakily lifted himself up off the floor, and took in the nightmare of his surroundings for the first time. His stomach lurched with what he saw.

The sky above him was black, thick with billowing smoke. The air was insufferably hot, and he could smell burning nearby. There were people running, students screaming – some on broomsticks, zooming past him occasionally, calling warnings and directions to the frightened groups.

"Hey! You there!" one called out to him, but it was a voice he did not recognise. "Get away from there, get yourself off the field!" His warning was brief and urgent, and then he disappeared. The boy started to move, but he gasped again as he did so, for all was not right with his left leg. A stinging sensation shot through him and he collapsed once again on the floor. Determinedly, he raised himself again and hobbled toward the edge of the pitch, to where one of the spectators' towers still stood, unharmed.

He fumbled around in his pockets and robes, searching for his wand, but it was no use. He was dressed in readiness for the Quidditch match that never happened, and he knew as well as anybody that wands were strictly forbidden on the pitch, lest they were to be surreptitiously used for illicit purposes. It sudden dawned on him on that he was completely defenceless. With renewed determination, he hauled himself toward the tower and sought refuge therein, throwing himself gratefully to the floor, away from the frightening noises and the horrors that lay in wait outside. As he sat there, breathing heavily, he could at last try to work out what had happened.

It had been a normal Quidditch match, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, the first match of the term. The boy was Seeker for Gryffindor, in his sixth year at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The game had started normally… he remembered the shrill whistle, the cheers of the crowd as he and the others had launched themselves skywards on their brooms. They had only been playing mere minutes before it had happened. As he was completing a routine sweep of the field in search of the elusive Snitch, a futile cry of warning had gone up from the crowd, and a split-second later his World had been turned upside down by a violent explosion right next to him.

He had been thrown from his broom and began to tumble downwards, his flailing arms grappling at the broomstick and trying to steady himself, but it was no use. As he had tumbled, he remembered vividly the shocking scene which quickly unfolded. More explosions, more fire and smoke, and in the midst of it all…

He shuddered. The memory was too frightening to put into coherent thought. One of the other Quidditch players had seen it first, screaming its name and fleeing from its presence. Then the boy had hit the floor, and remembered no more. He still could not work out how he had managed to sustain so few injuries, nor why his broomstick had disappeared. But even more puzzling was the appearance of that… that…

He could not bring himself to think of it, and desperately he turned his thoughts elsewhere. His mind immediately settled on his girlfriend, a sixth year like himself, and he was horrified to realise that he had no idea if she was safe. She had been watching him in the stands, as she always did, right before the attack came. The attack… was it really an attack? Those explosions – unlike any magic he could think of. They were more like… fireworks, or something. He wrinkled his brow as he contemplated this. With every new thought, the mystery thickened.

Unable to distract himself for long from his girlfriend's safety, the boy scrambled to his feet and limped out from under the stand. In a moment of surprise, he saw that much of the anarchy had subsided, and the sky had cleared. Whatever had happened had done so quickly. Convinced now that he was in no danger, he dragged himself across the pitch, calling out. It was only moments before he saw her, searching frantically for him where him broomstick had fallen, her long, dark hair blown askew over her face.

He started to run toward her. It hurt his leg tremendously to do so, but he ran as best he could, all the while calling out. She looked up sharply at the sound of his voice, and visibly breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of him. They moved towards each other and fell into an embrace, relief ebbing from every particle of their beings.

"Oh, God!" she exclaimed, tears prickling the back of her eyes. "When I saw you fall from your broomstick, I was so worried", she took a calming breath and steeled herself for the next sentence, "And then… it arrived, that dark shape…"

He slid his hand up to the back of her head, holding her comfortingly.

"Ssh", he calmed her, "I'm OK. I didn't see what happened, but it's gone now". They stepped apart, and he could not tell which of them was more relieved to see the other in one piece.

"I've lost my broomstick, though", he added, feigning annoyance at this triviality. She laughed.

"That old thing was a piece of junk anyway, James", she told him light-heartedly. He wouldn't deny it, either. Through the dull ache in his leg, he managed a lopsided smile.

"I'm glad you're alright, Lily", he said sincerely.

And with that, the immediate danger passed, James Potter took her hand and led her back up the hill toward the castle. Little did he know that this curious episode of his life was far from over.


End file.
